


I asked for Coffee

by Hllangel



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Cluelessness, Coffee Shops, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hllangel/pseuds/Hllangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles works in a coffeeshop and Danny keeps bringing his dates in. Stiles definitely does not approve. Not actually an AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I asked for Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Donutsweeper, who waved the pompoms and cracked the whip and heard me talk about this thing way more than it deserves. For my real life Adam, who will always get a cameo/namedrop in my Teen Wolf fic. Siryessir, I fit you in! In the way you thought, not the way I thought, but hey, you're here! 
> 
> This has already been jossed by the vague spoilers for season 3B that are starting to float around. 
> 
> Title from a Mae West quote: "If I asked for a cup of coffee, someone would search for the double meaning."

If there is a way to show extreme displeasure while tying apron strings, Stiles is going to make sure he figures out how to do it. But it's hard to express those feelings while his hands are busy behind his back, relearning a new angle on a skill he thought he'd mastered in the second grade. His dad looks entirely unimpressed by the attempt as he orders enough coffee for the entire office. 

Despite the fact that he's earning decent pocket money, there's no getting around the fact that his new job is punishment. Okay, so his dad hadn't actually described it in punitive terms, but he'd been honest about the fact that this was the only thing he could think to do after he (a) found out about werewolves, (b) found out that Scott was a werewolf, (c) found out just how deeply Stiles was involved in the whole mess, and (d) how many near death experiences Stiles had had as a result of (c). And that didn't even take into account his own kidnapping. 

He'd put all of that together and figured out that there was no way he could just forbid Stiles from being involved. After all, he'd only had minimal success trying to keep Stiles out of the sheriff's office and out of official sheriff business over the years. Since he couldn't exactly ban Stiles from seeing Scott, and he couldn't really impose a curfew that he expected to also enforce, he'd come up with a creative solution: get Stiles a job, and bribe them to give him enough hours to fill all the time he doesn't spend in practice or doing homework. 

Two weeks in and Stiles has to admit (not out loud) that it's working brilliantly. He has to go straight from practice to work, and gets home with just enough time to do his homework and collapse into bed, more often than not still surrounded by all his books. 

Scott has started complaining that they never see each other anymore, which is ridiculous because he and Stiles see each other _all the time._ They're in four classes together, plus practice every day after school. What Scott really means is _I can't get you to do my werewolf research._ It's not the end of the world, since nothing's happening right now, but Stiles still feels like he's somehow letting down his best friend on top of the always-there guilt about having led Scott into the woods that night in the first place. 

The only time Stiles is able to see any of his classmates outside of class or practice is when they come in for coffee. Which is actually pretty frequently, given that their little shop with their squishy chairs and loveseats is actually a pretty hot date spot. Or pre-date. Or meeting place for when you meet someone online and want to be sure they're not going to kill you before inviting them into your home. 

It's a legitimate concern in Beacon Hills. At least, most people think it's a legitimate concern, and Stiles isn't going to disabuse them of that notion because it is partly valid, but also because the real things they need to worry about are too weird for most people to believe. 

When Danny comes in with a date, though, Stiles has to congratulate him on his good instincts. Not that he's doing this out loud. At school, they're in a bunch of the same classes and the same sports, but they're not friends, not exactly. Even after everything they've done together. Or at least experienced from different angles. Everything's relative, Stiles knows. And he also knows that Danny's understanding of the last year or so are highly dependent on how much he knows about werewolves. Stiles isn't going to be the one to tell him. 

Stiles immediately changes his mind about Danny's instincts when he sees Danny's date. He knows that face, doesn't like that face, has seen that face more times than he can count on both hands. Mostly behind bars at the station when he's bringing his dad dinner. A few times it's been through reinforced windows in the back of a squad car. He's no evil half-alpha twin thing, but he's not exactly good news either. Stiles would have to sneak a glance at his records to confirm, but he's pretty sure that at least three of his arrests have been for assault. 

"What can I get started for you," he asks, when Danny makes his way to the counter. It's pretty bland as far as greetings go, especially for someone he actually knows, but it's a far cry better than _What the hell is wrong with you? That guy's arrest record is as long as my arm. I'd rather set you up with 'Miguel'. He's creepy and inept but probably won't actually kill you himself. ___

__"Two black coffees, room for milk," Danny says. He's opening his wallet and not even looking at Stiles. Which is pretty par for the course, as far as Stiles has experienced it so far. Most people don't look at the person handling their money or their cards or their food. But there's a bit of disappointment that someone he's known for most of his life doesn't actually want to acknowledge that he's right in front of them._ _

__Stiles counts out the change and hands it over, and then goes to get the coffees. He's not fully trained on the espresso machines and varieties yet, but he can put brewed coffee in a cup. "Careful, it's hot," he says when he hands it over. "Sleeves are by the milk."_ _

__"Got it," Danny says, looking up and _seeing_ Stiles for the first time. But then he's gone before Stiles can tell him any of the long list of reasons why he needs to get the hell away from Trevor? Stiles thinks that's his name. It doesn't actually matter. _ _

__They leave after half an hour, tossing empty cups in the trash (well, _Trevor_ was going to leave his but Danny picked it up and tossed it along with his own). And he tossed a wave back at Stiles before going through the door. _ _

__Well, at least that was something._ _

____

*

With Derek out of town, it's surprisingly easy for Stiles to go a whole week without having to get involved with weird things which are likely to give his dad a heart attack. Even with Deaton's prediction that they'll be at the eye of a supernatural hurricane sometime soon, Stiles has yet to see a hint of it anywhere.

Not that he's been out much to look for signs of activity, but Scott informs him that nothing's happening, except that Isaac's slept over at Allison's for a few nights running. (Stiles is not ready for this conversation with his best friend; he's unsure about whether the problematic point of that sentence is that Isaac isn't home with him, or that he's at Allison's.) 

When Friday rolls around, Stiles is once again working, and this time he gets to make all the complicated drinks, supervised by Becca. By 9:45, near the end of his shift, he's mostly gotten the hang of the machine, and has successfully figured out pneumatics to keep the major drinks straight. After that, it's just remembering what weird things people like to pollute coffee with. And in his vast experience of two weeks, the ones who have the fussiest, frilliest drinks are the rudest jackasses. 

So when a new customer in jeans and a blazer that's the wrong size comes in and orders a "large non-fat soy latte with three pumps of caramel and whip, no foam, and make it fast I don't have all night," Stiles knows it's going to be bad. He smiles, takes the cup from Becca and wishes he could ban the guy from the shop instead of serving him.

He takes his time making the monstrosity, wanting to get it right so that he doesn't have to make it again. Of course, when the drink isn't on the counter immediately, the guy starts very obviously looking at his watch. This is about the only situation where Stiles wishes he had let Peter bite him last year. Or gotten Scott to do it as soon as he turned alpha. A flash of glowing yellow eyes and teeth would get this guy to calm down and wait his turn. 

Or possibly flee in terror, which Stiles would absolutely not feel guilty about.

Leaving would be great, Stiles thinks, as he presents the drink with a smile. Let him just be passing through on his way to Big Sur or something over on the coast. Maybe then he'd fall off a cliff into the ocean and never bother poor baristas again. Unfortunately, he sits down right in the middle of one of the love seats, arm flat out across the back, knees spread wide, taking up the entire two-person seat, and waits. 

On Friday nights, 10pm is when they get busy, everyone trying to fortify themselves with coffee before going out, or meeting dates before going out. Basically, they're the last sober stop of the Beacon Hills nightlife, such as it is. 

Even though there's a decent line, Stiles keeps an eye on Toe Tapper and winces when he sees who is meeting him, because it's Danny. Of course it's Danny. Becca takes over making drinks when it gets crowded, since she's both faster and more accurate than Stiles, which means Stiles is on the register when Danny comes up for his coffee. 

"Black, room for milk," Danny says with a smile. Stiles gets him his coffee and his change, and they chat a bit about the coming Lacrosse tryouts, since Danny is the last in the line for the moment. 

Behind him, Stiles sees Italian Loafers getting increasingly irritated and fidgety, so does his best to trap Danny in conversation until someone else comes in and he has to shoo Danny away from the counter. Danny drops a few dollars into the tip jar and goes to meet his date, who barely moves from dead center on the loveseat, forcing Danny to squeeze in, half on top of him. 

_What a scumbag,_ Stiles thinks. 

Unfortunately, they're still there when Stiles' shift ends, so he has no idea whether they leave together or not. He hopes Danny threw hot coffee in the guy's face. He even has a lawyer referral ready for the inevitable lawsuit.

*

"Why are you being so weird about this?" Scott asks him the next day. It's Saturday, the one day off Stiles gets. No school, no work, no practice (for now, at least). He spends most of the morning doing homework so that he can head over to Scott's and get a week's worth of Quality Best Friend time in one afternoon. 

He's still stewing over Soy Caramel Asshole, but after Stiles complains for at least twenty minutes, Scott cuts him off. It's probably more like three, but Scott has always liked hyperbole. 

"Why do you even care?" 

Stiles hits pause on their game half a second. He's not sure why. Danny is at least an acquaintance. He's known Danny since he was a kid. So they're more than acquaintances but not quite friends, since the only thing they really have in common is werewolf research fun times and whatever sport is in season at school. But Stiles, who apparently inherited his mother's overprotectiveness, doesn't want to see him with a total douchebag who may or may not be abusive. Or an asshole who thinks the world owes him twenty. Or anyone who also may not know that Danny is, actually, underage. It's hard to tell on first glance, though. 

It's not like he'd said anything during the Twin Conquest of Ethan and Aiden, and look how that had gone. 

"It's Danny," Stiles says. He's aware that it's not really an explanation of anything. "His best friend is Jackson, who shipped himself off to London to avoid his feelings. Then he was going out with Ethan..." Stiles trails off for a minute trying to figure out what he's trying to say. "He doesn't deserve to get mauled by humans, too." 

Scott shrugs, which is probably the only reaction he's going to get from Scott. 

"What?" he asks. "I just don't want to see him get hurt." 

"Sure," Scott says, and changes the subject to Allison, and how long it will take before she agrees to actually date him again.

* 

On Wednesday, Stiles is working until 9:00, and Danny comes in at 8:30 with someone new. From the backpack he's carrying he's likely a student, but he doesn't look familiar, so not Beacon Hills high. There's still the slight possibility that he's from the private school across town - Stiles swallows around _something_ that's prickling at the corner of his eye because he can't send Heather a text to verify or disprove the hypothesis - but it's more likely that he's from the hippie liberal college over by the coast. Not that Stiles has anything against the school, per se, he's even considered applying there himself if only to keep an eye on his Dad after graduation, but it's the very epitome of overly expensive and privileged.

Despite the hipster hair and glasses, something about this guy reminds Stiles of Jackson. It's the carefully shined shoes, he thinks, which are totally incongruous to hipsterdom. Of course, this is probably why Danny's on a date with him, and why Stiles can't stand him on sight. 

Danny gives him a smile when he picks up the coffee, and Stiles purposefully gets New Jackson's order wrong to see what he'll do. Look, no one ever said that Stiles wasn't provocative. And these days he's used to provoking much scarier things than yuppies in overly thick-rimmed decorative glasses.

He's proven exactly wrong when the guy makes a face but just continues to sip it. Stiles had screwed up the flavoring - caramel instead of vanilla, so it's nothing that actually tastes bad, but some people are prone to overreacting. Of course, now all he's accomplished is that Danny is on a date with a nice guy, and the two have their heads bent close together, drinks almost forgotten on the table next to their squishy loveseat. 

They leave before Stiles' shift is over, when he's in the back digging up a new stack of napkins so he doesn't see if they leave together or separately, but he's pretty sure they're together, or if not, that there will at least be a second date. Good for Danny. He needs more nice guys in his life. 

Yeah, it's definitely a good thing. For everyone. 

*

On Thursday night Hipster Glasses comes in again, at the same time and orders the same thing. Stiles doesn't screw it up this time, but ten minutes later he's wishing he had. The guy was obviously on a date again; he's wearing the same shoes and jacket, but Danny never shows. It's weird, Danny isn't the type of guy to stand up a date. Even for forced group projects he's pretty much the only person Stiles has ever worked with who hasn't bailed on a meeting or work that they're supposed to be doing. 

Stiles keeps an eye on Glasses between customers, and eventually he's joined on his loveseat. By another college-looking guy that Stiles is pretty sure he's seen before. Maybe he used to go to Beacon Hills High, or maybe he just has one of those faces. But whatever, Shiny Shoes had been in with Danny just last night, and it looked like they'd been having a good time.

They leave, not bothering to clear their table of crumpled sugar packs, napkins and empty cups. Yeah, Stiles doesn't like the guy.

*

Friday means date night and pre-bar coffees, which means lots of turnover. Stiles is on his break, and therefore doesn't even realize that Danny is in until he comes back out to wipe down tables and rearrange the furniture as much as he can. Danny and his date are bent close over a table tonight; different table, but the same guy with the glasses. The same guy who was here with someone else last night. He feels like he should say something to Danny, warn him that they've been on two dates and his new boyfriend is _already_ cheating on him, but he's not supposed to interrupt customers like that.

It's a close call. 

Instead, he goes back behind the counter and taps Jared out to take his break while they aren't swamped. Even though there isn't a line, there are plenty of things that need to be done, things to be washed from the last rush of coffee fiends. He's elbow deep in suds and hot water when there's a throat cleared behind him, and he turns to find Danny at the register. 

"What can I get you, Danny-boy?" Stiles asks, biting questions back about Hipster Glasses and how they're apparently on a second date.

Danny puts his cup on the counter. "Just a refill for the road." 

Stiles bites the inside of his lips while he's pouring the coffee, and watches them walk out.

By the time Stiles gets home, he's got about two hours before he absolutely has to be asleep in order to be marginally awake for breakfast in the morning. Instead of doing something useful (like homework) or totally un-useful (his dad never did figure out parental controls on their internet, and even if he had, his passwords are totally predictable and written down on post-its in his night-stand drawer), he opens OKCupid and makes a profile. 

Stiles has to lie about his age, but that's not really new: he's been doing that online for way too long. He doesn't really have many pictures of himself, and most of them make him look like he's about 14. He's still only 16, but Stiles likes to think that he at least looks older than that now. At the very least, he and Scott had gotten better fake IDs and successfully tested them in the next town over, sleeping it off in his jeep before sneaking back just before sunrise a few times over the summer. 

The point is that Stiles is very good at pretending that he's not sixteen. Once he fills out the basic information, he starts answering questions; they are endless and weird, and Stiles gives up around 1:00AM, crashing into bed without taking off his socks.

*

Saturday morning in the Stilinski house isn't for sleeping. Because of how much Stiles' dad works, they've always set aside one day a week to have an actual sit-down meal. It moves around depending on the Sheriff's schedule, the school calendar, and now, Stiles' work, practice and game schedules. So right now, it's Saturday morning.

"Your coffee skills have improved," his dad says while Stiles is cracking eggs into a bowl for omelettes (he carefully dumps half the yolks down the drain while his dad isn't looking - he leaves just enough so that the eggs look the right color when they're done). 

"I'll have you know I stopped poisoning customers weeks ago." 

"And here I thought that was from the diner." 

When they're done with eating and the dishes, Stiles sequesters himself in his room, ostensibly to do his homework for the week, but really to see if anyone's looked at his profile. There are about twenty messages waiting for him when he logs in, so he prints out all the profiles and starts spreading them out on the floor so he can see everyone at once.

He's attacking the first one with a red sharpie when his Dad walks in to see if Stiles needs anything from the store. 

Stiles has, of course, printed out all the pictures with the profiles, in stunning color, so it's a bit late to pretend that he's doing homework when he looks up to find the question on his dad's face. 

"Something you want to tell me, Stiles?" 

Stiles thinks back to the night he and Scott broke into Jungle, the way his dad had so easily dismissed even the possibility that Stiles might be gay. That night really had been about following murderous lizards, but this is about something totally different. Okay, so it's not that different - he's trying to keep Danny out of the line of fire. Just because Danny's best friend-turned homicidal lizard-turned werewolf isn't in town anymore doesn't mean that Danny's safe. Not with the guys he's been dating. One guy. And a bunch of douchebags. Two. But it's more than Danny deserves to put up with. 

"Just helping out a friend," he says. 

It looks like his dad wants to say more, but he doesn't, just closes the door behind him. 

A few hours later when Stiles has red sharpie marks all over his hands, no clear pattern on the type of guys in the area who use OKCupid, and no potential dates for Danny, he decides that he's doing this wrong, and pulls up Danny's profile to read. Aside from the fact that Danny is lying about his age, he looks really good on paper. (And in real life, but for science, Stiles is trying to forget that he actually knows Danny.) Stiles hovers over the message button, halfway through mentally composing a greeting, and then abruptly closes the tab. He reminds himself that he's doing this _for_ Danny, and not looking for a boyfriend for himself. As if Danny would go out with him in the first place, even if Stiles swung that way.

Clearly, the problem isn't with Danny's profile. The problem is everyone else. The problem is that Danny's a nice guy who has a history of going after terrible boyfriends. Like Matt. And Ethan. And Loafers and Glasses and Arms-length Arrest Record.

*

"I figured it out," he tells Scott over burgers and curly fries.

The diner is harshly lit and badly decorated, but they've got the best fries and the thickest milkshakes. All the things Stiles doesn't allow his dad to bring home. 

Scott is in the middle of a bite when Stiles makes his proclamation, so it takes a minute for him to get his question out around it. "What are you talking about? Nothing's happening." 

"Danny. It's not that all guys are a douchebags, it's that Danny keeps picking douchebags. I need to fix that." 

"I still don't get why you're making it your problem." 

Stiles shrugs. He hasn't exactly figured out that bit either, but he's too deep in it to pull back now. Besides, he's good at excuses. "I feel guilty that we never told him about Ethan before he took off in the middle of the night." 

"The werewolf part or the murdered a classmate part?" 

"Either. Both. Whatever. Dude's had a rough few years. Best friend turns homicidal lizard turns werewolf turns gone to London. Paralyzed for a night by said best friend, sleeps with homicidal half megazoid werewolf --" 

"The better half." 

"Granted, the slightly less violently crazy half of the megazoid twin alpha thing, and now he's dating college trust fund hipsters and abusive jerks. Something's gotta give, so I'm gonna make sure it happens." 

"Dude, you can just tell me stuff." 

Stiles freezes with his last fry halfway to his mouth, but recovers quickly. "Why does everyone keep saying that?"

*

Stiles is fighting to shove his books into his locker monday morning when Danny comes up behind him.

"So," he says, drawing it out and waiting for Stiles to finish what he's doing. 

When Stiles has the right books and his locker clicks shut he turns to where Danny is leaning, looking relaxed and way too alert for the hour. If Stiles takes a minute to appreciate how long and lean he is when he's on display like that, then it's only because he appreciates people of any gender who look good. 

"I saw your profile," Danny says. 

Profile? They are facebook friends, he's probably facebook friends with 90% of the school, but ever since Stiles' life took a turn into the "you wouldn't believe it even if I told you" territory he's stopped using it so much. He doesn't really care what Jared gets up to outside of work if Scott's in danger of decapitation weekly. And he definitely hasn't updated his profile in at least a month, except for a few embarrassing pictures of his first attempts using the machine at work. Which means that Danny's talking about his fake dating profile. That Stiles only made to pre-screen men for Danny. And which he definitely doesn't want to talk to Danny about. But apparently, that's what they're doing. Fantastic. Just what Stiles needs early on Monday morning, before he's managed coffee. "Just checking a few things out." 

"You looked at _my_ profile."

Stiles bites his cheek. He hadn't known about that particular feature when he'd looked. "Right. Um. I can explain." 

"Let me know if you want to talk." And then Danny's gone, disappearing into one of the science classes on the main hallway.

*

Stiles shows up with barely a minute to spare for work on Tuesday. Practice had run long and Stiles had hit every red light on the way across town and not even being the Sheriff's son could save him from speeding tickets, so he can't make up for lost time that way. (He knows this for a fact. Several facts costing a few hundred bucks each.) As soon as he arrives, he throws his things in the back and comes out before he even finishes tying on his apron, taking over the register from Jared just in time to see Danny and his cheating Hipster ready to order. Danny's got his wallet out, Hipster has his hands in his pockets.

"One black coffee, one Vanilla skim latte," Danny says, handing his card to Stiles, who swipes it, hands it back and goes to start the drinks. This time he deliberately leaves out all the flavoring hoping to provoke him into doing something to show his true colors. 

This backfires spectacularly when Danny brings the cup back and politely asks for the vanilla that Stiles forgot. He fixes his drink and just when Danny is turning back Stiles figures that maybe it's time to intervene. 

"We should talk," he blurts out. Nowhere near as casual as he'd meant to say it, but it's direct and to the point. Could have been worse. 

"Sure. After practice tomorrow?" 

"Yeah," Stiles agrees, then lets Jared take his register back while he goes into the back room trying to figure out what the hell he's doing.

*

"You wanted to talk?"

Danny is pulling on his shirt as he approaches, and Stiles looks away, making sure he's got everything he needs out of his gym locker, and that his towel isn't on the floor where it won't dry and instead will get moldy. Not that he knows this from first-hand experience, of course. 

"I've got some time before work. Want a drink? My treat."

They chat amiably on the way, and Stiles isn't in danger of running any red lights to get there. He's got half an hour before his shift starts by the time he parks the Jeep.

Becca gives Stiles a weird look when he shows up early, but Stiles ignores it and ducks behind the counter to grab Danny his usual and and a cup of iced coffee for himself. There are a few students scattered around with piles of books and notes, but it isn't too crowded so Stiles picks a table as far away from the counter as possible. No use making it easy for his coworkers to eavesdrop. 

They each add things to their cup, and then sit. Stiles twirls his cup around, not sure how to start. Yes, he needs to talk to Danny because Danny has no sense of self-preservation. But now that he's actually here and sitting across the table from Danny, it's hard to actually say the things he wants to say. The words all sound terrible in his head, and they're going to be worse once he speaks them, but no one ever accused Stiles of backing away from things. 

"Okay, so I'm not sure what I'm doing here, but bear with me because I've been practicing how to say this and everything sounds awful." 

Danny interrupts him. "Don't say it if you're not ready. No one should be forced to say or do anything they're not ready for." 

"So these guys you keep bringing here. Where do you meet them?" It's part of the problem, but not actually what Stiles is trying to get at. He'll find his way there eventually. 

"Online, mostly. It's not like Beacon Hills has a huge gay population. Dating sites like OKCupid, some gaming forums have corners for gay gamers to talk, I can give you a list." 

"Perfect, thanks," Stiles says without thinking.

"Happy to help," Danny says. "You're not the first guy from school I've done this for. You might be surprised." 

It seems a bit absurd to Stiles that anyone else has been paying that much attention to Danny's sex life that they've come to the same conclusions. Stiles knows that he's got a very roundabout way of solving problems, it drives most of his teachers up the wall. It's really unlikely that anyone else at school would both have the same puzzle pieces that Stiles does and put them together in the same way. He's about say this out loud when realization slams into him, and Stiles is suddenly aware that they're having two very different conversations. 

Stiles is trying to get Danny to make better life choices and Danny is coaxing Stiles out of his nonexistent closet. 

"Wait what no," he says in a rush. "I'm not coming out. Not that there's anything wrong with it, obviously, but this isn't about me. This is about you and your dating deathwish." 

The easy-going smile drops from Danny's face, but Stiles plows on, regardless.

"You have terrible taste in men. I realize that Ethan split in the middle of the night, Matt turned out to be a murdering psychopath, and Jackson is just an asshole, but you need to stop trying to replace them with abusive jerks and douchebags. I'm good with patterns. I see things. And this new one with the glasses? I hate to break it to you, but he's not the exception." 

"We're done here," Danny says. 

He leaves his mostly full coffee on the table.

*

Danny doesn't come back. He's been pretty predictable since Stiles started working at Lestat's. He comes in Fridays, sometimes other days, gets his black coffee and spends an hour or two with whatever hipster he's picked up that week.

Okay, so he's dated three guys in the last few weeks. And it's only been three weeks since he started watching Danny, but he likes things that come in threes. It means patterns, and patterns mean that Stiles can make close to accurate predictions.

But then his Friday night shift comes to an end without Danny, even though there are plenty of people on dates. Danny had been at school all week, but Stiles hadn't paid much attention other than that he was there. It's not like they cross paths all that often when there aren't any werewolves around. School isn't the problem and anyway, school was pretty much the only place where he gets to spent time with Scott. 

When Monday rolls around again, Stiles goes looking for Danny, who promptly starts walking away as soon as Stiles gets close. They share a second period class, but even though Stiles is sitting closer to the door, Danny is in later and out first. By the time Scott and Stiles get to the locker room the change for practice, Danny is in his gear and headed towards the field. 

If three's a pattern, this one is definitely Danny avoiding Stiles, which is completely unfair. Stiles was just trying to help.

"I was just trying to help!" he says to Scott when practice is over. "And now he won't talk to me. Or look at me. Or stay in the same room when not required to." 

Scott shrugs. "So go apologize." 

"But I was trying to _help_ ," Stiles repeats, with extra emphasis. He's the good guy here, and Scott needs to know that. 

"What did you say to him?" 

"I told him that he needs to stop trying to get over his homicidal ex and asshole best friend by dating douchebags and abusive jerks. His new boyfriend cheated on him after _one date_. Someone needs to look out for him since he obviously can't do it himself."

The problem with being someone's best friend for nearly a decade is that you can tell when they're trying not to say what they really think. Scott, for instance, literally bites his lips to keep his mouth closed. 

"Dude, just tell me what it is," Stiles says, impatient. "I have to get to work." 

Scott pulls on his helmet and says, "Maybe you should listen to what you just said." Before Stiles can respond, Scott starts the bike and drives off. 

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He yells at Scott's retreating back, knowing that Scott can still actually hear him, even if he's probably not going to come back to explain.

*

"Your friend was here yesterday," Becca says when he walks in for work on Sunday.

Stiles just gives her a look. Scott doesn't visit here all that often, but he's been in a few times. Not that he could have been here yesterday, since he'd been with Stiles all day. So unless she's talking about one of his Dad's deputies, Stiles has no idea who she's talking about. 

"What, my Dad sending people to spy on me again? He knows I don't work Saturdays."

"No, the cute one. Who was dating that hipster guy with the glasses." 

Danny. Right. They're definitely not friends, Stiles thinks, not now. But if he wants information, he needs to not say that out loud. "Yeah?" 

"Came in with a new guy." 

"Not the guy with the glasses?" Well that's good news at least. 

"He wasn't wearing glasses. He was asian, kinda tall. Another friend?" 

"Maybe," Stiles lies. Or rather, stretches the truth. He doesn't know the guy in person, but he might have found his profile online the other night. One of the better looking ones, physically and metaphorically. He pulls up his phone and finds the picture he was thinking about, handing over his phone so Becca could see it. "This the guy?"

Becca shrugs. "I think so. Profile pictures can be misleading.

Stiles had to smile at that, given that his own had been carefully selected to make him seem as far away from sixteen as possible. 

His shift drags on forever, but by the time he gets home he has a plan. He quickly opens up his computer and logs onto OKCupid. It's pretty easy to find Phillip's profile again, and Stiles sends him a quick message. He must have been online because he responds right away, and before he knows it, Stiles has a date. 

They agree to meet at the Starbucks across town, much farther away from school and work and the Sheriff's office, making it a much safer place for Stiles to vet the guy.

He gets there early and orders his iced coffee, dropping a few dollars in the tip jar and adding all the milk and sugar to drown out the biting, bitter taste of cheap subpar coffee. Five minutes later, Phillip walks in, picks Stiles out and sits down next to him, not bothering to get a drink first. 

They talk for a while; Stiles' natural awkwardness makes it harder to get Phillip to talk about himself, mostly because Stiles just can't stop talking. He does find out that Phillip graduated from Humboldt last year with a degree in marketing, and that he has family in Beacon Hills; his cousins are opening up a spa out on the borders of the preserve, and they've hired him to be in charge of their marketing. 

Nice enough, even if he is six years older (four, going by his and Danny's profile).

"Meet anyone nice in town?" Stiles asks. 

Phillip smiles, "A few. Right now, for instance." 

Stiles blushes, suddenly very aware of the fact that he's on a date. With a guy. Which, of all the weird situations that have come up in the last year, is the one he probably anticipated the least. 

He's about to answer when he feels a draft of cool air coming from the door. He looks up automatically and there's Danny, who naturally sees Stiles right away. 

"Stiles! What the fuck are you doing here with him?" Danny is usually pretty chill, even when he's in full on defense mode on the field, so it's really weird to see him this angry. 

"You two know each other?" Phillip asks, brows creasing. 

"We go -- went to high school together," Stiles says at the same time Danny says, 

"The scene's not that big in town." 

Danny crosses his arms, which just makes his shoulders look wider, his shirt stretched tight across them. He's glaring at Stiles. 

Phillip backs away. "There's obviously some unresolved issues. I'm gonna go." 

"Yeah, I'm leaving too," Danny says. 

Stiles runs his hands through his hair. "Wait, Danny." 

And he does. He still looks pissed as hell, but he's not walking out the door.

"What the hell, Stiles?" Danny asks. 

It's a fair question, but Stiles doesn't answer right away. 

"Let me buy you a drink," he says instead. "Since you obviously came in for one." 

Danny nods, and Stiles leaves his bag at the table and orders Danny's usual. 

"I know there's been weird shit in town the last year," Danny starts. 

Stiles laughs, because he's still not sure how much Danny actually knows. It's not like he can call Jackson and ask. "You could say that." 

Danny rolls his eyes. "I mean, you've been acting really strange. Even by the Beacon Hills definition." 

Stiles bites his lip on the _you have no fucking clue_ that wants to push out. He wants to bring Danny in on the big secret, but he can't do that without revealing how he got involved, which is information that is definitely not his place to give out. "Seriously, though," he says instead, "I'm sorry. I thought that after Matt and Ethan and Jackson you deserved better than the guys I saw you with at Lestat's."

"Adam was a nice guy." 

"He was cheating on you." 

"There's nothing to cheat on. We went on a few dates, that's all." 

Stiles licks his lips and looks down at the table, fiddling with the crumpled white wrapper from his straw. "Right. Okay. Sorry."

"Just let me make my own mistakes," Danny says. "And maybe try a few of your own." With that, he's gone. Stiles watches him walking out until Danny turns the corner and he wonders when his life turned from supernatural teen drama to plain old teen drama. It's a bit of a letdown, to be honest.

*

Stiles' weekly routine goes back to normal. School, practice, work, breakfast with Dad on Saturday, the rest of the day his to do whatever, which mostly meant video games with Scott.

Danny starts coming into Lestat's more often, and mostly alone. Stiles gives him the coffee for free about every fifth time, but he's not counting. Danny now has a regular table where he does his homework, laptop out, the rest of the table piled with messy stacks of books and paper. When he does bring a date in, he takes time to talk to Stiles while he's fixing their drinks, and Stiles stops deliberately getting orders wrong. 

One Tuesday night Scott comes in with Isaac, and they crowd around one of the tables in the corner that are barely big enough for two people to put their cups down. Stiles gives Scott a grin when he comes up to the counter. 

"Something you want to tell me?" Stiles doesn't really need to ask, though. 

"Be cool, dude," Scott warns him. Then he nods to the opposite side of the room where Danny's at his usual table, with a date tonight. "You okay with that?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You know," Scott says, with a vague gesture. 

"We talked. It's fine," Stiles says.

"You sure you don't want to tell me anything?"

"Dude, be cool," he parrots back to Scott. 

Scott doesn't say anything else, just picks up the two drinks he orders when Stiles hands them over and goes back to his table with Isaac. Stiles is due for a break soon, and he wants to go over and sit with Danny, like he's been doing lately, but there are two werewolves in the room, and they'll be able to hear everything he says perfectly. Besides, Danny's on a date, too. 

Instead, he catches up to Danny at school the next day. 

"Scott's been bugging me about you," he tells Danny. "He might come after you next." 

Danny just shrugs. "Thanks for the warning." 

He never gets to find out exactly what Scott has planned, because later that night, while Stiles is on shift, Danny comes in with another date. Different from the one he'd brought the night before, but this time it's someone Danny knows. Not by name, but he knows the face. One of Argent's hunters. Stiles had thought that Allison was done with the old hunting ways, or at least that's what he'd gathered from Lydia when she bothered to talk to him. A new code should mean breaking with the people they'd worked with before. 

Except that one of them is back in town. On a date. With _Danny_. 

This is it. Stiles has reached his breaking point, and he has to do something. He's not sure what,, but something. 

He storms up to Danny and the hunter. "This is what I'm talking about," he says to Danny, then turns. "You need to get your ass out of this town. I don't give a shit who sent you here to do what. There's nothing here for you to do so leave. I want you on the road tonight, and I can enforce that. My Dad's the sheriff and he listens to me when I tell him there's a problem." 

Danny grabs Stiles by his shoulder and yanks Stiles back to face him. "You don't get to do this." 

"Fine," Stiles says. "I'm done trying to help. You want to keep dating psychos and hunters instead of regular nice geeky guys your own age, I'm done." 

His shift isn't over, but he storms out anyway. His keys and wallet are in his pocket, and he can come back later, much later, to get his backpack from the breakroom. 

He runs a stop sign two blocks from home because he's too angry to pay attention to the roads, but no one's out anyway, so there's no harm done. Now that he's home, he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't want to call Scott, he can't call his Dad, and Lydia is out of the question. He doesn't even contemplate any of the Hales. There's no one else. 

Even though the house is empty, Stiles shuts himself in his room and suddenly feels incredibly lonely. It's been years, but some nights the house is just too quiet when he's home by himself. He misses the sporadic clatter that accompanied his mom making dinner, or the hum of the TV from below when he still had an early bedtime, and his parents took advantage to cuddle on the couch in the living room. The memories temper his anger some, mostly because he can't hold both at the same time and stay in one piece. 

He closes his eyes and breathes as slowly as he can, letting the cool air wash through him, trying to let it carry away his grief and anger all at once. It's just starting to work when the doorbell rings and Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin. No one rings their doorbell. Scott got a key ages ago, even if these days he comes in and out of Stiles' window more often than not. 

The doorbell means bad news or missionaries, and it's definitely the wrong time of night for the latter. Stiles vaults off his bed and makes it down the steps in seconds, skidding to a halt at the door before wrenching it open. 

Only to find Danny, carrying Stiles' backpack. 

He has no idea what to say. "Er, thanks." 

"Nice, normal and geeky?" 

"To be fair, I also said your own age." 

"Can I come in?" Danny is uncharacteristically fidgety, shifting his weight and rocking from side to side on the balls of his feet. 

Stiles steps back instead of answering it verbally, using the chance to catch his breath and force his heart to accept that it's not the bad news he'd expected.

Danny is holding out the backpack, and Stiles takes it, tossing it into a corner of the kitchen. "So," he says, voice awkward in the too-still room. "Water?" He has no idea what to do. Angry werewolves are easier to deal with. 

"Can I try something?," Danny says, not answering the question.

Stiles isn't sure where this is going, but he's in the middle of pulling cups down from the cabinet. By the time he's filled them, drank half his own, and turned around again to offer one to Danny he finds Danny a lot closer than he expected, given that he didn't hear him cross the kitchen. It's not fair; just because Stiles long ago learned how to avoid the one squeaky floorboard doesn't mean that Danny gets to figure it out on his first try. 

Danny gently takes the glasses from Stiles hands and sets them back on the counter, still coming closer, not stopping even when he's breached Stiles' personal bubble. Hands free, Stiles brings them up between the two of them, trying to keep a few inches of space. Danny stops. 

Slowly, he brings up his left hand and sets it gently on Stiles shoulder. Stiles suddenly wishes that he'd been better about following the diet plan he'd forced onto Dad. His heart is going to give out any minute, it's beating so fast. He mentally reviews the symptoms of a heart attack, which he definitely isn't having, and a panic attack, which probably isn't happening, either. 

Stiles meets Danny's wide, dark eyes, and can't find much to go on. Most of Danny's face is thrown into shadow from the ceiling lamp behind his head, and Stiles is suddenly regretting the energy saving tear he'd gone on last year because the halogen light is so much brighter than the old bulbs had been, the higher contrast making him squint if he wants to see more than a stark outline of Danny's head. In another situation with other players Stiles would probably feel threatened, and try to make a run for it, or failing that, attempt talk his way out. But his throat seems to have closed, and his lips won't obey him. 

Danny brings his other hand up now, too. This one starts at Stiles' shoulder and glides up to his neck, fingers splayed out. Stiles needs to have a good long talk with his lungs about how they're deserting him now, of all times, and taking all of the oxygen with them. Danny's thumb swipes gently over the corner of Stiles' mouth, and his lips involuntarily fall open, the last of his breath escaping with a small sigh. 

And then Danny presses in closer; Stiles' hands are turning traitor now, too. His fingers starting to curl and catch on the fabric of Danny's shirt, pulling him in instead of pushing him away. His eyelids flutter shut just as Danny's lips meet his own. 

Danny is warm and his lips are chapped and rough, catching as he tilts his head enough for more than just a peck on the lips. Stiles sways forward into Danny, enough to show that he's not running away, before gaining control of his limbs and pulling back, putting a few inches between them. 

"That was unexpected," he says. It's not the only thing he wants to say, he has tons of words parading around through his head, but apparently that's all he's going to get. 

Danny's smile is warm and open anyway, crinkling his eyes at the corners as he talks. "Not really," he says. "I thought you'd break ages ago." 

Now Stiles is genuinely puzzled. He'd just wanted Danny to find someone that was good for him, who wasn't violently unstable, who wasn't mixed up with supernatural chaos, and he only fits one of the three. He'd never even considered throwing his own hat in the ring. The idea was insane. 

Except, here Danny is, pinning him against his sink, and looking like he wants to kiss Stiles again. And this definitely isn't a dream.

"Do it again," Stiles demands. 

This time, he _is_ prepared. He knows what's coming, and he thinks he knows how to deal with it, but everything flies out the window when Danny's mouth meets his for the second time. There's more, this time. More force, more heat. Stiles doesn't have much experience here, he never did deal with his virgin problem before things had moved into new categories, but he's not completely clueless. He opens to Danny's tongue, letting him do most of the work at first while Stiles figures out how to move with him and finally, pushes back. 

Danny groans, or maybe that's Stiles. It's hard to tell anymore, as his breath is being sucked out, and his chest is on fire. When he finally pulls away and leans his forehead against Danny so that he can really and truly breathe again, he laughs. 

It's catching, because Danny starts laughing, too. Stiles can't even remember the last time he felt like this; light, breezy, and _happy_. Some veil has lifted in Stiles' mind and he can see again, too. Wonders when he started to fall in love with Danny, when he finished falling, and when he forgot all about it. 

He kisses Danny again, quickly, and then slides out from where he's pinned, letting his hand trail down Danny's arm until their fingers catch and tangle and he can pull Danny from the kitchen and up the stairs. 

In general, Stiles moves through the world quickly. He can't stand to stay still. He's definitely never climbed a staircase this slowly. Then again, he's probably not had this much fun on the stairs since he got too big to ride a mattress down without breaking things at the bottom.

Now, though, Danny keeps pulling him down, pulling him back to kiss, to touch. By the time they reach Stiles' bedroom it feels like they've been doing this forever and not long enough. Stiles is about to crawl out of his skin, or into Danny's, he can't decide which. He pushes Danny against the inside of the door to close it, using his advantage to burrow his hands up and under Danny's shirt, to finally get his hands on Danny's skin. 

Danny's abs feel every bit as good as they look, maybe better, Stiles thinks, because he can feel every shift of Danny's breathing, every twist of his torso as he presses further into Stiles' hands. Stiles thumb grazes Danny's nipple and it earns him a groan, muffled against Stiles' lips. 

Stiles's makes his way down Danny's body, outlining all of his muscles, as far down as he can until he meets the hard line of Danny's jeans, which block him from exploring further. He hesitates for a second, pulling back from Danny's mouth as well. Instead, he buries his face in Danny's neck and breathes. 

Before tonight he hadn't really contemplated the fact that he apparently likes kissing dudes. Well, he definitely likes kissing Danny. Wants to do more than kiss him, probably; he's achingly hard, and Danny probably wants the same things, even though Stiles doesn't have empirical evidence of that. Yet. He knows that he could find out easily. He just needs to decide if he wants to find out right _now_. He's been warned about letting his dick do all his thinking, in different words, by most of the adults in his life. And as much as Stiles appreciates the advice, if not necessarily the awkward way it had been shared, but he's never really been one to follow advice. And he definitely is one for going all in once he decides to do something. 

Decision made, he slides his hands around to Danny's back and presses their hips together, having trouble keeping back a groan at the increased pressure on his hard cock. He definitely can't keep it in when Danny pushes back against him, his fingers digging under the waistband of Stiles's own jeans and down to cup Stiles' ass. 

Danny's hands are incredibly warm, spreading searing heat wherever they hit Stiles' skin, which is, as far as he can tell right now, everywhere. Danny pulls him closer and finds his mouth again, distracting Stiles so that he can pull them away from the door and deposit Stiles on the edge of the bed, spreading Stiles' legs and looming over him briefly before sinking down to his knees. 

He's hesitant as he reaches for the button on Stiles' jeans, making sure he gets permission before he goes ahead with his plan. Stiles leans down to kiss him before whispering, "Yes. Please," as he pulls away. 

Danny pushes further into Stiles's space, spreading his legs more, hands coming up to quickly open Stiles' pants, helping Stiles move his hips up enough to get the fabric far enough out of the way so that he can pull out Stiles' dick. 

The air is a cool shock to Stiles, but he forgets about it pretty quickly when Danny's hand wraps around him, pulling slowly, testing Stiles' response. Like there's really a question; Stiles is sixteen and he's never had anyone else's hands on him. Of course he's going to like it. Of course he wants more. He's about to tell Danny as much when Danny's mouth closes around the head of his cock, causing Stiles' entire world to narrow down to just the two of them. Werewolves? What are those? 

For all that Stiles has imagined getting blown, which is a quite a bit, the real thing is even better. Danny's mouth is hot and wet, and he clearly knows how to use his tongue to press against the underside of Stiles cock in tandem with his hand on Stiles' balls. He wants to thrust up and get more, but Danny's other hand is holding Stiles' hips down, forcing Stiles to go along with Danny's pace while he grips his rumpled blankets as tightly as he can. 

Stiles wants this to drag out forever, but knows it's going to be over all too soon. "Danny," he bites out, bringing one hand down to get Danny's attention. "I'm going to -" He can't quite finish the sentence as Danny twists his hand in a particularly perfect way. But Danny gets the message and pulls back, continuing to work Stiles with his hand until Stiles comes with a loud moan. He's suddenly very glad that they're alone in his house. 

He slumps back on the bed leaning on one elbow while he pulls Danny up with the hand, gasping as his oversensitive cock comes in contact with the rough denim of Danny's pants. He can feel an edge of sleepiness coming in, but as Danny settles on top of him he realizes that Danny is still hard, and that it would be entirely unfair of him to sack out now. 

Stiles pokes at Danny's chest, "move." 

Danny does, looking puzzled until Stiles points in the direction of the pillows. The covers get even more rumpled as they kick and shift their way to laying the right way on the bed, their clothes sticking and twisting, limiting their movement. Eventually, though, Stiles has Danny on his back, legs spread tangled up with Stiles, who is half on top of Danny and definitely enjoying the part where Danny's shirt has ridden up halfway, exposing his perfect six-pack. But that's not what Stiles is looking for. 

He reaches for the button on Danny's jeans, and it's more awkward getting it open than he expected, but he's working through a post-orgasm haze and at an unfamiliar angle. He eventually manages to get them open with Danny's help, and reaches in to wrap his hand around Danny's dick. Danny hips buck up into the contact, making it easy for Stiles to figure out Danny's rhythm. He fumbles a bit, because as much as he does this to himself, it's different to be doing it for someone else. Danny clearly doesn't mind Stiles' clumsy fingers, though, because it's not very long before he's arching his back and coming, thick white ropes spilling out of his cock and onto Stiles' hand. 

He gives Danny's dick a few more gentle pulls, relishing the way he twitches in Stiles' hand, and claims Danny's mouth again. The kiss is gentle this time, long and slow, and he can concentrate on how Danny tastes and feels against him. When he brings his hand up to cup Danny's cheek he realizes that it's covered in cooling, sticky come, and makes a face while Danny laughs at him. 

Stiles is about to wipe his hands on Danny's shirt in retaliation, but he realizes that he'd already ruined it, and wipes his hand in the same spot where his own come had apparently landed earlier. Danny hits him in the arm, but without any real force behind it. 

"You can borrow one of mine," Stiles says, before leaning in to capture Danny's mouth again. 

They're settling in against each other, still mostly clothed but loose and tired and light when Stiles phone goes off. Just a text, and he'd ignore it, but they're both children of the digital age and Danny is digging into his pocket for him, bringing it up so Stiles can look. 

"It's just Scott," Stiles says. "I don't need to answer." He takes the phone and tosses it over the side of the bed, hearing it fall to carpeted floor with a soft thud. 

"What did he want?" Danny's words are slow and lazy, taking their time to finish his thoughts. 

Stiles snuggles millimeters closer and smiles into Danny's neck. 

"He asked me if I'd figured it out yet."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the mods at A Bite Off Center, for organizing this fest and keeping up the posting for a full month. Now that I've (finally) finished mine, maybe I can even go read a few!


End file.
